episode_0022

A knight’s sword holds their will. By imbuing their swords and power with will, they awaken their Aura. That was why they established their own values and acted according to their own convictions. For strong will and conviction made their power, their Aura, even stronger.

There was a boy. He wanted to be like his father. He wanted to become a honorable and great knight, just like his father, the great knight his mother always spoke of. He wanted to create the story of a great knight. He wanted to be a hero.

Though there was no light in the sky, he created light in the darkness. A dream. He had a light named ‘dream’.

To become a knight, a hero, and protect those he loved most, that was his dream and his light. That dream seemed eternal. His vows also seemed eternal. His promise with her also seemed eternal.

But there was no eternity. The stronger he believed in eternity, the more easily that belief shattered. In the end, everything turned to ash. His dream, his vows, his promise.

The things that supported the boy vanished. The light vanished. His will and conviction crumbled, and his sword lost its way.

Having lost everything, he was left with only two swords that had lost their will. His father’s honorable sword and. The dishonorable sword of an ancient calamity.

The boy drew the second sword. He raised his sword high and ceaselessly swung the lost blade. As if a veil had fallen over his surroundings, his gaze was fixed solely forward. He didn’t look at the path he had walked, or the path he had been on; he only charged forward and cut down everything. He cut down everything that stood in his way.

But what was the meaning? No matter how many enemies he cut down to grow stronger, a sword without conviction could never truly become strong. The lost sword considered itself weak. Having lost his will and conviction, his strength also weakened, just like other knights.

Then someone whispered. That will and conviction were unnecessary. If you pursue only strength to erase your weakness, that itself will be your will and conviction. If an incomprehensible power has destroyed everything you have, then you too should acquire an incomprehensible power.

A voice was heard. The voice of the black flame, which expressed its intent through mere expression, steadily expanded its domain by shattering the opposing realm within him. Light shattered, and darkness fell. The balance tilted to one side. And as its domain expanded, that voice grew louder.

“Erase your weakness, become even stronger.” “Only strength can allow you to reclaim everything you’ve lost, and strength is your everything.” “That will be your new conviction.”

The black flame whispered to him. It persuaded him to pursue only strength.

He asked the flame. “Then what about my dream?” “Forget it.”

“And the vows I made within myself?” “Forget them.”

“Then… the promise with Kara?” “Forget it.”

Even with repeated questions, it answered thus. “A shattered dream will only make you weak.” “Even if you painstakingly gather shattered glass shards, what’s broken cannot be restored.” “Why do you try to pick up what’s broken?” “Instead of trying to fix what cannot be fixed, create something new.”

“Swing your sword.” “Cultivate your power.” “Become even stronger.”

The navigator made a contract. To enable incompetent humans to withstand trials, they allowed stars to be placed in their souls. By engraving ‘potential’, they could grow stronger, and they were able to overcome immense trials. But you have no star. You weren’t even given the potential that everyone else receives. If an insurmountable, immense trial were to befall you then. Would you truly be able to overcome that trial?

No. Ultimately, you won’t overcome it. You’ve already experienced your own limits. You scraped together and drew forth the potential of a non-existent human named Agapé. This is the result.

In this state, you can no longer grow stronger. Therefore, you must listen to my words. If you believe and act as this whisper tells you, you will be able to overcome any trial.

“What’s the point of overcoming trials?” “No matter how strong I become, no matter if I overcome trials.” “I’m just a pawn dancing on the strings of fate anyway.” “As the Prophet of Light said, the stronger I get, the more I’m just feeding his power.” “I’m destined to be used as nourishment and then discarded.” “I long to be strong, I yearn for it, but is this path truly correct?” “I have such doubts.” “Flame.”

[What does fate matter?] Whoosh—! [You just need to defy fate.]

‘…….’ “Is that even possible?” “Is it truly possible for someone like me to defy fate, which governs the providence of the world?”

[It is possible.] The flame said with conviction. [Because I, and the calamities of the past, were created for that very purpose.]

“…….” Once. The heart demon that tormented my mind was my weakness. But the reason I kept repeating to myself that I was weak was Kara’s voice. Kara’s voice and actions, cruelly abandoning me. Trapped in the past, I had suffered, overwhelmed by such things. But as I shattered everything and recreated it according to its whispers. Her voice was no longer heard. Kara’s voice, which had cruelly abandoned me, was no longer heard. Now, only its whispers echoed in my mind.

***

Countless stories are made on the battlefield. From numerous legends to trivial anecdotes. From tiny, insignificant tales to stories containing great sagas; truly, diverse stories are forged.

On such a battlefield, a new story recently emerged. The story of a knight.

He is said to be extremely reluctant to reveal his skin, wearing thick gloves and a long robe that covers his entire body. The long robe, which was inconvenient for movement, was always tattered, and sticky blood was said to flow between the ragged fabric. It is said that his hands never let go of his sword. His blunted sword was always covered in chunks of undead flesh, and black blood was said to drip from the tip of his only sharp blade.

Some say. That he is not human. Standing at the forefront of the battlefield, wielding his sword, he ceaselessly cut down the undead of the Army of Death, yet his manner of wielding the sword did not seem human at all.

His sword was sharp. His sword was keener than any other knight’s. And his swordplay was said to be more skillful than anyone else’s.

But it was excessively cruel. So brutal that he didn’t seem human at all. In his Aura, which was supposed to show will and conviction, only a primal desire remained. Strength.

He pursued only strength. But it was said that he was as precarious as he was strong. Like an unstable tower built only upward, his tower of conviction, made of his strength, looked as if it could collapse at any moment.

Some knights, seeing him, said. That he was wrong. That he should know how to take care of himself. “The power of Aura, which originates from conviction and will, does not grow stronger by simply pursuing strength so recklessly.” “That his method of growth was flawed.” The knights, looking at him, were convinced that one day, both his strength and conviction would collapse.

But he did not collapse. As if overturning the knights’ common sense, his unstable tower did not fall. His strength remained. His conviction was more solid than anyone else’s. It was the pursuit of strength, akin to instinct rather than mere will or conviction, that kept the tower from collapsing.

The knights who saw him no longer considered him human. They decided to think of him as a wraith-like being. Because he was such a bizarre entity that could never be created by ordinary human thought, they were convinced that he was a wraith born from the souls of soldiers who died on the battlefield. The Wraith. On the battlefield, the man began to be called that. Since no one knew his name anymore, everyone began to call ‘The Wraith’ as if it were his name.

Thus, The Wraith appeared throughout the battlefield, cutting down countless enemies. Starting with high-ranking undead, all the way to the highest-ranking undead of the Army of Death. And even, incredibly, to the Legion Commander created by the Greedy Prince.

***

Graaaah— The colossal giant’s roar echoed across the silent battlefield. In the middle of the battlefield, where mountains of corpses were piled everywhere, only the bleeding colossal monster and the cloaked man remained.

Plague Father. One of the Greedy Prince’s twenty Legion Commanders, and a symbol of terror who spread a curse named ‘Plague’, driving countless soldiers to their deaths. Having killed the most Allied soldiers among the Legion Commanders, he held onto the exposed core in his chest, struggling to control his rotting giant body. The core was already half-shattered.

“Astonishing.” The giant’s voice murmured low. “My plague doesn’t affect you. Just what exactly are you?”

The Plague. A powerful curse-type magic created by him, once a great wizard, reaching the realm of divine authority. Until now, no one had been completely free from this magic; even heroes couldn’t kill him, yet the human before him was unaffected despite directly taking his plague.

“…….” Plague Father’s red eyes turned towards him. And then, he sneered at him. “Khuhuhuhu, Khahahahaha━━!!” Boom- Boom- The giant’s laughter echoed high into the sky.

“Ah, I see.” Plague Father realized, looking at him. “How could my curse possibly work when a stronger curse has already taken root in your soul?” An unbearable curse is already killing you.

“Your life truly is pathetic.” “A curse that makes my plague seem insignificant.” Towards the man who killed him, Plague Father expressed pity.

The embers in his red eyes began to slowly fade. “How regrettable, truly regrettable…” He continued to pity the man who had killed him, even in his final moments before death.

Crumble— The rotten giant’s core crumbled into dust and vanished.

“…….” The Wraith killed the giant. That story spread throughout the entire Allied Army.

***

Only a select few knew that he was a member of the Penal Unit. The Imperial Family, and the Prophet. Apart from them, no one knew that the wraith named Agapé was a member of the Penal Unit.

To begin with, most people believed he was not human, but truly a wraith created from the grudges of soldiers who died on the battlefield.

The knight, who everyone thought would die quickly, stubbornly survived. Becoming a powerful, useful asset on the battlefield, he now eliminated Plague Father, the Legion Commander who had been halting the Allied Army’s advance.

No longer needing to tremble in fear of the plague, they decided to begin a new ‘war’ they had long prepared for. “Begin the Great Expansion.” It was the Emperor’s command.

The front lines, which had been pushed back for decades, had been stalemated by heroes. The tide of battle had already turned in favor of the Allied Army, ready to attack the Army of Death at any moment, but due to Plague Father’s plague, the Allied Army had been unable to carelessly set foot in their territory. But not anymore. With Plague Father’s death, the Alliance gained an opportunity for a counterattack.

The Great Expansion. A territory recovery war targeting the entire massive front line that stretched from the north to the southern end, dividing the continent in half. The Emperor, who commanded an unprecedentedly massive advance of soldiers in history, ordered the Penal Unit to lead the charge and open a retreat path for the heroes so they could kill the Legion Commanders.

Thus, numerous Penal Unit members, including Agapé, were the first of the Allied Army to set foot on the Land of Death.